Proud Is
by RL.Angstshipping
Summary: What do a highend thief and a lowclass serial killer have in common? A little too much for comfort. Prequel to Feel on the Dark. Story of how Bakura and Mariku met. Psychoshipping.
1. Chapter 1

**Proud Is**  
written by RL.Angstshipping  
_you drag the name through dirt_

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!

**Author's Note: **This is the prequel to _Feel on the Dark_ and the story of how Bakura and Mariku met. Also, for the sake of this fan fiction, Bakura refers to Yami no Bakura and Mariku refers to Yami no Malik. This fan fiction takes place (roughly) in the 50's. If their are inconsistencies for the time period, forgive us. We're dense. xP

Chapter One

_A Beautiful Stranger_

_God damnit._ Mariku winced as he was pressed up against the wall, a quiet grunt escaping his lips. An elbow jabbed into his lower back before all pressure let up. Turning around and rubbing his wrist (had they really needed to grab so tightly?), he narrowed his eyes at the man before him. An elder white man, the owner of the damned bar. It was amazing how little the employees cared about Mariku's presence but the moment this man walked in, shit hit the fan.

"You'd be surprised to learn that I can walk on my own," Mariku hissed, spitting, though he was careful not to hit the other. As confident as he was, he didn't need to get shot the moment he turned his back on the man.

The owner shouted something at him though Mariku had tuned him out by now, starting on his way down the sidewalk. He dragged his feet along the pavement, listening to the sound they made as they ground against the surface. The soles of his boots must look like hell but what did that matter? The rest of them looked almost perfect; Mariku's shoes were his pride and joy.

"You've got quite some nerve, don't you?"

The voice caught the Egyptian off guard, Mariku spinning around to get a good look at whoever was speaking to him. The man before him was hard to miss: long, silver hair, a dark trench coat that concealed most of his pale form, and piercing, brown eyes. These eyes were settled on Mariku now, shining with something that seemed to be amusement.

Mariku recognized the man. He'd been at the bar, sitting by the counter and sipping a drink that looked far too classy for the atmosphere. Tongue running along his bottom lip, Mariku ignored the man's question, posing one of his own (though it came out more a statement than anything), "You were watching me play pool."

The man chuckled, a dark sound, as he let his hands slide into his pocket. The gesture reminded Mariku of the knife that lay hidden in his own pocket. Safety precaution. Would he need it now? "It gave me something to do," he responded casually, stepping towards Mariku. "Where are you headed?"

Tanned fingers tapping against his side, Mariku pondered the question, violet eyes narrowed coolly at the other. While he might have given the other a truthful answer due to his own morbid curiosity about the other's intentions (whatever they were, Mariku knew he could handle himself), he wasn't, at the moment, aware of where he was headed. He'd planned on spending his night at the bar, getting drunk enough to feel something but not lose complete control, and then head home. His plans were obviously in shambles now so what to do? He could always hunt down another place but it seemed tedious as well as pointless.

He might as well head home.

Did he really want a stranger following him home? He started on his way again, one hand sliding into his pocket, fingering his knife. There was no reason not to go on. Nothing to lose in the hellhole that was his apartment.

It didn't seem to phase his stalker that he hadn't answered; the man picked up his pace and managed to keep up with Mariku. For a while, neither of them said anything, one walking in step with the other. It was strange; try as he did, Mariku couldn't come up with a logical motive for the other. He didn't look like a typical mugger and even if he were, he would have acted sooner. They'd been in plenty secluded areas, plenty of places where he could have gotten away with it.

So why? Rape? What would a prestigious (in appearance only, perhaps) white man want with someone like Mariku? Unless, of course, it was fetish. Mariku got a small sense of delight in thinking that might very well be what it was. Fetish -- he had a few of his own.

Stopping in front of a rundown building, Mariku glanced over his shoulder at his guest. "I'm afraid I'm home so our delightful evening together must come to an end."

He seemed to amuse the man. Watching as the pale man's lips tugged into a smirk, Mariku examined him once more. He was attractive in that strange mysterious stranger sort of way. He looked more like a shadow than anything and idly, Mariku noted that he'd never tasted a shadow. It was something to consider.

"You're not going to invite me up? How rude." There was something dignified about the way his stalker spoke, something alluring.

"Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners." Mariku motioned the door of the apartment building, metal and rusted with age, his bracelets clanking against his wrist. "Would you like to come in?"

"I would."

Common sense should have persuaded Mariku not to invite this stranger home but perhaps he lacked common sense altogether. Wasn't there a saying about how it was impossible to have book smarts and common sense?

Opening the doorway, Mariku stepped inside first, momentarily forgetting that he was trying to appear equally dignified. The musty smell was a warm welcome though a quick glance over his shoulder informed him that his guest (and he really was his guest now) didn't think quite the same thing. The building was a wonder of its own though the wonder came from the fact that it was still standing. Moving on, Mariku headed to the stairs, completely bypassing the elevator. Though it appeared to be decent enough, it hadn't been in working order the entire seventeen years that the Egyptian had resided in this building.

The stairs creaked dangerously beneath his boots as he walked upstairs. He lived on the third floor, apartment C, so it really wasn't a long journey (though he had passed out on the stairs a few times). As they reached the third floor, he couldn't help but chuckle at his company's disgusted expression.

He jiggled the doorknob to his apartment, opening the door and narrowing his eyes at what welcome him. His mother lay sprawled across the floor, one hand positioned in a manner that he could only wonder how the door hadn't at least brushed up against it. She didn't appear as if she'd moved any time soon.

Mariku stepped over her, ignoring the fact that she was there, most likely, to wait on him. He had company, after all, did he not? It'd be rude to keep them waiting. As he stepped, he felt a hand grab the back of his pants leg. Well, at least he knew she was alive. Pausing, he turned slightly and kneeled beside her, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. "Can I help you, Mother?"

She looked up at him, eyes desperately searching his facial features for any sign of compassion. "Mariku..." This was her son. What had she done wrong? "Mariku, why are...?" She didn't finish her sentences though from the expression on her face, she thought she had.

"You're high," Mariku commented dully, brushing his fingers across her cheek, a gentle gesture. "Why don't you sleep and we'll talk in the morning?"

She clearly didn't like that idea. He needed to talk to her now, needed to tell her everything now. Her violet eyes dilated, closing and opening quickly as she tried to focus on the stranger behind her son. "Leave my son alone." There was a decent amount of fear in her voice, the sound of which caused Mariku to groan. "Please, just leave--" She stopped speaking as Mariku stood up. "Why are you leaving me?"

Mariku didn't answer her, only motioned for his guest to step over her and follow him to his room. He stepped down the hallway, ignoring his mother's desperate pleas for him to come back. He knew his visitor had followed him, giving his mother a disgusted passing glance.

Nudging the door to his room open with his foot, Mariku stepped inside and flicked the light switch up. The room, even with the light, was dimly illuminated. The windows were blocked with heavy, dark curtains, sealing away any hopes for natural light the room could have. For the most part, the room was bare. Mariku's bed was pressed up against the far wall, one black, ratty blanket used for covers sprawled messily across it. A dresser was to the right, one drawer partially open due to the fact that no matter how hard it was shoved, it wouldn't close. In the drawer were a few loose pieces of gold jewelry, the only signs of wealth in the apartment.

Moving to his bed, Mariku took a seat and began working on untying his boots. Kicking them off, he looked up at the man, violet eyes running over his form once more. He still, technically, didn't know why the other had followed him here. The answer to that would come soon enough.

The silence was unnerving. "Welcome to my humble abode," Mariku chuckled, waving to the room casually, as if showing it off.

The paler man stepped inside, giving his own laugh and approaching Mariku. "Lovely, I assure you."

There was something about the way he spoke. The way he seemed so on top of things, the way he seemed so in control. Part of Mariku wanted to destroy that, to steal every ounce of self-confidence the other had. The other part wanted to let it destroy his. Reaching up, Mariku pulled the other into a kiss, mouth parted hungrily.

His stranger, and he was his now, seemed hesitant at first before he leaned in and returned the kiss, his own hands moving to rest on either side of Mariku's shoulders. Slipping his tongue in between the other's parted lips, he gave a pleased groan when Mariku sucked obediently on the muscle. The Egyptian's hands tugged at his trench coat before pushing it back over his shoulders. He shuddered, pulling back long enough to let it hit the floor before crawling into the other's lap.

Mariku pushed up at the bottom of the other's shirt, clawing at his sides. He was pushed down back against the bed, his body sinking in to the comfort of his own mattress (as cheap and stiff as it was). As his stranger crawled over him, straddling him, Mariku wrapped his arms up around his neck, licking hungrily at what was showing of the other's collarbone.

Fetish. It had to be fetish.

_You've Got It All Wrong_

Groggily, Bakura opened his eyes, blinking as the room around him came into focus. _Fuck._ He really hadn't meant to sleep with the kid. Mariku? If what his mother had called him was his name, that is. She'd been so out of it that he had his doubts, even if it was her own flesh and blood.

The worst part about the situation, though, wasn't the fact that he'd slept with a kid, or even a black kid. The worst part was the fact that not only had he slept with Mariku, Mariku had actually woken up before him. The entire quest had been simply to rob the boy. It was amazing that he hadn't been robbed before, the way he flaunted his gold jewelry -- the bracelets that adorned his arm and the necklace around his neck.

How Mariku had lured him in, he didn't know. The kid was dirt, the kind of grime found in sewers, and yet his false sense of importance had dragged Bakura to him like a moth to a flame. It was a miracle, too, considering Bakura wasn't easy to impress.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, he let his gaze linger on the Egyptian who had slipped on a tank top and was now working at his pants. He gave a soft grunt, mostly just to inform the other that he was awake.

Mariku glanced over his shoulder, tongue running over his top lip, mouth curving into a smirk. How the hell could something so disgusting be so attractive?

"Do you want coffee?"

The question surprised Bakura so he simply shrugged his shoulders. "That's fine," he answered. He didn't even really like coffee but it was one way to get the other out of the room.

Mariku nodded before slipping out of the room. Bakura watched him go, eyes studying the way the boy's hips shook when he walked. As soon as he was sure the other was out of earshot, he climbed to his feet, quickly throwing his clothes back on himself. No use running around the house naked, right?

He moved to the jewelry, examining it for a moment. This is what he'd come here for and yet, he didn't quite know what he wanted to take. He'd planned to steal what was on Mariku's body but...

Pocketing only a ring (and slightly disappointing himself), Bakura slid out of the room, walking quietly down the hallway. He located the kitchen easily enough, moving to stand in the doorway. Mariku was by the counter, their coffee, and apparently discussing something with his mother. Said woman was sitting at the table, both hands to her head, rubbing her temples. Served the scum right.

"You're late," she was murmuring, shaking her head. Clearly, she'd been saying the same thing for quite some time now because Mariku only gave a frustrated grunt. "They'll kick you out of school."

Mariku gave Bakura a quick glance before his attention turned back to his mother. "No kidding," he mumbled. "It doesn't matter. They're probably about to kick me out anyway." Then, to Bakura, "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," came his mother's response, her cold, violet eyes glaring up at Bakura. Bakura only flashed her a grin; she was a strange woman and she had to be half crazy. He'd been surprised the previous night to find that she was a white woman (though that was hard to tell from her dirt-caked skin) but it did help to explain why Mariku's skin was lighter than most of the other's in the area. "Why did you hurt my son?"

Mariku rolled his eyes, nails scratching at the top of the counter. "Ignore her," he instructed, licking his lips.

She clearly didn't like that idea. "L-leave." Despite her weak voice, she sounded rather demanding. It shouldn't have amused Bakura but he found himself chuckling anyway. "Get away from my son. Leave."

She was beginning to sound desperate, Bakura noted. Flashing Mariku a quick grin, slightly sadistic in character, he gave a quick shrug of the shoulders. "It appears I should be going," he informed the other. "It was truly lovely being with you, Mariku." He gave a wave of his hand before turning and exiting the apartment.

Heh, it really wasn't lovely at all.

End Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

**Proud Is**  
written by RL.Angstshipping  
_you drag the name through dir__t_

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay in updating either of our stories.

Chapter Two

_How Nice To..._

One hand wrapped firmly around his knife (slick with blood) and the other around a ring and some cash, Bakura's dark eyes sought out any and all life around him. He'd never been caught before and he didn't plan to break that reputation. Instead of police, something else caught his vision. At first, it was the strikingly familiar spike of blonde hair, but the dark skin was the giveaway. How long had it been? Thinking back on it, Bakura realized that it had probably been a couple of months. Yet, he remembered the other perfectly -- every detail, every contour... Shit.

Mariku was seated on an old wooden bench, splintered with age. His violet eyes never left the night sky, though he really wasn't looking at the stars. Instead, it was simply a place to tilt his head towards without staring down at the dirt. His long nails (when had he last clipped them?) scraped against the decaying wood, hand twitching as he felt the other approach him. As Bakura slid down next to him, he finally turned his gaze to the pale man, lips curved into a frown. His facial features clearly expressed his distaste for the other.

"Again we meet," came Bakura's purr, pleased that they were alone in the area. Had someone walked by, they surely would have had a problem with a white man sitting so casually next to someone of Mariku's..._race_.

Chipping away at the bench, Mariku glanced down to the wood, finding it more suitable to stare at than Bakura. He remembered the other equally well, though he clearly would have preferred not to. "Regretfully." His tone was cold; he really wasn't in the mood (or condition) to deal with Bakura.

"Oh, come now; don't be like that," Bakura chuckled, lips curving into a smirk as he heard the annoyance in the other's voice. Moving one hand to steady himself on the bench, he leaned closer to Mariku. His other hand (he'd pocketed both his knife and 'rewards' before sitting down) reached out and brushed his fingers over the other's cheek. "Did you have a good time?"

Mariku snorted, "With you? Hardly." That was a lie. A complete lie. He couldn't deny that his 'time' with Bakura had been remarkable -- it was rare that he found someone as violent as him in the bedroom. Still, he'd rather die than admit it; Bakura wasn't his type. Couldn't be his type. The other's fingers against his cheek were oh-so-taunting though and he found himself turning to take one of Bakura's fingers into his mouth, tasting the flesh, tongue rolling over the digit. _Flesh_. There wasn't anything that tasted better.

"Yes, with me. As I recall, you were making it quite obvious that you were enjoying every second. I," but Bakura trailed off as the other sucked on his finger, sighing as his mind reeled back to the memories of Mariku's filthy bedroom. Mariku was like a fish -- set the bait and then wait for a bite. ... In fact... "Bite it."

Snickering, Mariku took Bakura's advice, sinking his teeth into the other's finger, tongue pressing up against the bottom. He was playing along with Bakura's game, he knew, but if he was enjoying it, what did it matter? At least, for now.

With a soft groan, the white-haired thief leaned in closer, head dipping downwards, enjoying the sudden feeling of pain shooting through his finger. It hurt, yes, but there was a pleasure there. A pleasure that nothing else would quench. He loved pain but only in certain amounts. Right now seemed to be the perfect amount, and he mumbled, "So good," without meaning to. The remark did nothing more than make Mariku chuckle darkly against his finger (and the hot breath felt_good_), moving it in and out of his mouth seductively. The Egyptian slid over on the bench, leg just barely touching Bakura's. The movement was obviously a mimic of something else, something much more erotic and the idea caused Bakura to hiss. His body was reacting just as badly as it had when they'd first messed around. "Shit." He was going to end up breaking down, losing control, and screwing the guy right here on the bench if it didn't stop soon. If someone saw them, someone with credibility... he'd just have to kill them. Or move, again.

Mariku pulled back unable to keep from laughing. Leaning back against the bench, he smirked, "Did it feel _that_ good? I mean, fuck, you'd think I was actually giving you head." From the expression on Bakura's face, he could tell that it really_had_ felt that good to the other. The low growl that escaped the paler man's lip only validated that assumption. Chuckling darkly, he climbed to his feet. "I really should get going."

Bakura reached out, with his bloody hand no less (Mariku hadn't noticed it before, clearly), and grabbed onto Mariku's arm, grip tight. "Already?" he asked, though his 'innocent' tone was laced with something less pleasant. He obviously didn't like being turned down when he was turned on. Then again, who did? "I was hoping to catch up on some things with you. After all, it's been months."

Though the blood caught Mariku's attention and he eyed it with contempt, he looked up at Bakura, raising an eyebrow. "Catch up?" he inquired. "There's not a lot to catch up on, I'm afraid. I'm still the same _dirty_ boy I was when you last saw me." He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, a tantalizing smirk on his face, "Do your friends know you have a hobby of chasing after black kids?"

"I also have a hobby of not making friends," Bakura responded, gritting his teeth before a smirk graced his lips as well. Pulling the other forward roughly (and down slightly), Bakura tilted his head up to kiss Mariku. He rarely made it a habit of following anyone around more than once but there was something about _this_ boy, something that sparked a lust inside of him that he didn't have any reason to deny.

Mariku kept his lips shut, though he gave a slight groan and leaned (barely) into the kiss. This was becoming quite a twisted game they were playing. Pulling back after a moment, the Egyptian gave Bakura a fake pout, "Mm, I _really_ have to be heading home."

The thief didn't let go of the other, though. "You know," he began, "I'm beginning to think you don't like me." Quite the twisted game indeed, and as the levels became harder, it was turning into more of a battle.

Pulling away, Mariku replied simply, "You'd be thinking correctly." There was absolutely nothing likable about Bakura. Other than the physical attraction the two shared, Mariku had no interest in him at all. With that, he turned around and walked started to walk off.

Bakura was not a man who took 'no' for an answer, especially when it had become a challenge of will. Grabbing his pocket knife, he followed the other, a bitter sneer pulling at his lips. "Ah," he finally said, having caught up and slung his arm around the other's chest, sliding it up to press the knife against Mariku's neck, the blade flipped open. "Well, then I suppose I have no reason to try to be friendly with you, eh?"

The grip and knife clearly surprised Mariku and he paused, body tensing up and heart skipping a beat momentarily. Was this man fucking serious? Trying to glance over his shoulder without moving muc-- Fuck that, he leaned in to scratch his throat lightly against the knife. Alright, at least that felt good. He glanced as much as possible at Bakura with an odd expression, inquiring almost kindly, "You're going to try and rape me?"

The fact that Mariku felt little to no emotion caught Bakura off-guard for a moment, though after reminding himself that he was dealing with someone who was emotionally unstable as this kid, he should have expected it. Had he actually purposely cut himself? Before he answered, he trailed his tongue along the back of Mariku's ear before biting it hard, feeling the Egyptian shudder beneath him. "I haven't said a thing of what I plan to do," he finally responded, feeling the odd and welcome sense of power he tended to get when he had someone in a position where he could either take their life or spare it.

Mariku leaned his head back, blade scraping against his throat once more. Pain. The pain was almost blinding -- was it possible to lose your sight like this? His hand moved to Bakura's leg, fingers running over the fabric of the other's pants. "Really, I can't see what else would be of interest to someone like you."

The smirk on Bakura's lips faltered slightly, though the Egyptian couldn't see it. "Someone like me?" he asked, sounding irritated. "Now I'm curious to know just what you think I'm like." This boy was half-gone at_least_, since the blood that was now beginning to bubble up on the other's neck only seemed to bring him euphoria.

"What I think you're like?" Mariku drawled, a grin on his lips. "Isn't it obvious? What sort of person holds a kid, with a blade pressed against his throat? A kid he's had sex with, no less. It's not like I'm difficult." His tongue ran over his lips. "You could always try asking." He'd get the upper-hand; with this man, it shouldn't be hard.

Letting out a harsh laugh, Bakura said, "I was expecting a more in-depth and thought-out answer, but I'm not sure why. I doubt you're even passing whatever shitty school you go to." As easy as it was to mock Mariku, Bakura couldn't help but be unnerved by the fact that he -- this KID -- was taller than him, his attacker. To quench his frustration, he bit down roughly on Mariku's ear once more, purposely drawing blood.

The action made Mariku moan, a sound he wished he could have held back. This man actually thought he was stupid. While that shouldn't have made him angry, it was the one thing that Bakura had done that insulted him. Mariku had actually held the top grade in his class, up until he'd been expelled. He'd embarrassed, constantly, the other students that worked hard for their grades. To him, it came naturally. Disguising his anger with calmness, he replied, "I'm not in school anymore."

Emitting a taunting chuckle, Bakura snorted, "What a surprise." He'd never before made it personal, especially with a fucking _kid_, but obviously the other liked pain on a much higher level than even he himself did. He wanted to press the other's buttons to see just how far that went. "I could hurt you severely, you know," he purred, speaking into the wounded ear.

Mariku growled darkly. What a surprise? He'd been kicked out for alleged rape, though he couldn't help wonder what Bakura thought it had been for. "Then what are you waiting for?" he snapped, lips curving into a grin. He wouldn't allow the other to win; not in a game this easy.

Whatever happened to his plans for simply robbing this boy? "I'll have you wanting more before long," Bakura breathed, his overconfidence practically dripping from his body.

"I hope so," Mariku replied, "because you're certainly boring me now."

They needed to get out of the lamplight. Who needed a building anyway? The thrill of getting caught was wonderful on its own. Dragging Mariku to some of the trees along the side of the sidewalk, he forced the other, face first, against the bark of one of them, moving slightly against his backside. "I promise you won't be bored for long."

As uncomfortable as the position was, Mariku didn't mind. Pressing his forehead against the rough surface, enjoying the pleasant ache of his throat, he tried to keep his mind from wandering. Focus, Mariku -- now wasn't the time to think about what color he should paint his kitchen next (the current pale yellow walls were splattered with blood). Forcing himself to concentrate, he demanded, "Give it to me, baby." He had the upper-hand here; Bakura was doing exactly what he wanted him to.

Reaching up, one of Bakura's hands slid up the other's chest, raking the nails over his skin. His own back had scabbed over and healed almost completely (save for a few faint, pink scars which would eventually fade -- Mariku was a fucking bitch with his nails). He grinned as the other gasped at the touch, feeling Mariku's body shake beneath him. The grin was short lived as he found himself curious, suddenly remembering the marks he'd seen briefly before. Running his fingers harshly over Mariku's back, he whispered into the blonde's ear, "Why the hell'd you fuck up your back, anyway?"

The fingers on his back made the Egyptian squirm in discomfort. The question surprised him though he should have expected it at one point or another. Gritting his teeth, he let his eyes squeeze shut. "I didn't do it," he replied simply, deciding not to elaborate on the matter.

Bakura chuckled, dark eyes flashing. "Oh? Then does a sob story go along with your back?" he asked in a taunting manner, pushing the other's shirt up and running his fingers over the markings none to gently, enjoying the way the other tensed up under the touch. With his other hand, he slid his digits down the other's stomach, knife still being held, though it was flipped in a way that it only barely dragged over the other's skin, before he reached the hem of Mariku's pants.

"Would you care if one did?" Mariku snapped back, squirming slightly. This man really was a bastard. But what was the point in protesting? Protesting meant Bakura had won.

A snort was the other's reply. "Not really," he answered, taking pleasure in the way the other squirmed beneath him. He leaned in, biting down on the other's neck. "It's ugly, though."

Mariku gave a small groan, trying to focus more on the delight of the pain as opposed to the other's words. Easier said than done. "Yes, I'm aware," he replied plainly, one hand moving to support his weight against the tree.

"Even you think so? Pity indeed," the thief chided, the hand on the blonde's back slinking over until it was stroking the gold on the other's arms. "But there are things on you that are much more attractive." The hand on Mariku's pants poked a single finger under the waistband.

As Bakura's hand brushed against the gold, it seemed to click. _This_ was why Bakura was after him? It didn't make sense but Mariku knew it was the truth. Still, why not take that their first time around? Mariku slid his hand up so it was around the blade of the knife before moving his leg to kick Bakura's knee hard. As the other gasped and fell backwards slightly (shit, that was going to bruise the_bone_), Mariku wormed his way out from under him, letting go of the blade, briefly examining his hand. That was going to scar. Shaking it, he watched as the blood hit the ground before glaring down at the other. "Is this what you want?" He motioned towards his jewelry, sliding off a couple of bracelets and thrusting them in the other's direction. "Take them. I'm sick of dealing with you." They were heirlooms; what the hell did he care for them anyway?

Bakura matched the glare, surprised as the other handed him his jewelry. No._No_, this wasn't how he liked things to be. Stealing meant to take, and if someone was giving it you, it was no longer stealing. There was no rush, no bragging rights. Nothing. In fact, it made him feel stupid. Spitting at the blonde's feet, he moved to stand, his knee almost giving out completely under his weight. _Shit_. He was going to be limping for a bit.

The knife he still held in his hand was covered in fresh blood, but that wasn't his biggest concern at all. "Keep them, you blonde freak," he spat, his legs still shaky.

Shrugging and sliding the bracelets back on, Mariku smirked. Had that really been all it took? A kick to the knee and Bakura was practically down and out. He reached into his jacket pocket, revealing his own weapon, the blade of the dagger twisted and curved like a snake's body. "You owe me something," he explained, taking a step towards Bakura.

A bitter sneer pulled at Bakura's lips. "_Owe_ you?" he asked, disbelief lining his voice. He let out a laugh, one that went on a little longer than it would normally, his knee shuddering slightly. Pain was coped well with laughing. "And what, pray-tell, could I possibly owe _you_?" He still had his knife and though it wasn't as long, nor as intricate as the other's, it was still sharp and still effective. The only problem was that Mariku didn't seem to react to pain -- at least, not in the way he should. Would stabbing even do anything to him but make him moan like a whore?

Mariku cocked his head to the side, grin on his lips. The truth was Bakura wasn't exactly his usual type. Still, this man had managed to fuck him, and not only that, Mariku had wound up on the bottom. Running his tongue along his blade, he paused a few steps in front of Bakura. "You don't think I would really just let you fuck me and run, do you?"

How easily the tables could be turned in a game like this.

End Chapter Two


End file.
